


Sureviled

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bonding, Drama, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Mystery, Out of Character, Romance, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Spoilers, Suspense, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-23
Updated: 2007-06-22
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: Post HBP. HaHr AU. Betrayed in the Final Battle, Harry is placed into an alternate universe where his mother is alive, he's been kept in hiding, Ron and Hermione are in Slytherin, and James Potter ... is the Dark Lord. DarkHarry.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels. I did not write this story to be any form of slander, nor do I make any profit from it. 

Notes: First major nonslash. Joy.

Notes2: Post Half-Blood Prince. So, spoilers, if you’re an idiot and haven’t read it yet. –pointed look-

Warnings: Horrible AU (tragic, sorry), drama, angst, character deaths, some slash couples (you’ll live), violence, and language. Let’s dance, you and I, hm?

Prelude

They were racing through the pitch-black corridor – just the two of them. For the first time ever, the third member of their infamous “Golden Trio” was not among them. It was a newly developed situation, caused by a horrific scene, that was still slamming into the chests of them both. But there was no time to stop and grieve, no time to give their fallen friend the respect they deserved.

No time.

Harry Potter was ahead, emerald eyes unabashedly releasing the tears of his loss as his feet carried him toward his destination. Behind him, unable to contain the sobs that would inevitably wrack his own body, Hermione Granger followed. From several floors below, the cries of war and pain echoed just as loud as they would if the final fight of the last battle been directly in front of them. Both teenagers blocked out the horrifying sounds as they raced on, determined beyond hope of deterriation to reach the one thing that could end this all.

“Go past the H-Head Office.” Ron Weasley’s dying directions flew through their minds. “Se-secret corridor on t-the right. It’ll take … you there. Harry. You ha-have to do it. There is no … no other way.”

A sharp cry of pain emitted from Harry’s mouth as his left side slammed against a lone shelf. The gaping wound under his ribs – courtesy of a dying Bellatrix Lestrange – protested the cruel intrusion, spilling out more blood than it had been before. He stumbled, but at the last moment, a strong arm wrapped around him, pulling his frail form against the smaller body of his best friend.

“We have to hurry,” Hermione urged gently, jerking his arm across her shoulders as she continued to run, supporting him. “There’s no time, Harry.”

No time.

They ran past countless portraits, all of which whispered encouragement as they went by. The screams that had haunted them were beginning to die away, leaving only an eerie silence in their wake. Their was a sound of marching, of Hogwarts’ staircases creaking and groaning in protest of her invaders, but unable to do anything now that the Headmistress was gone. The lightning-bolt scar on Harry’s forehead twinged as Hermione drew to a stop in front of a plain brown door, upon which the portrait of the Four Founders was hanging proudly.

“Please,” he heard Hermione beg. “We must get through. There is no – there is no other way.”

“Only an Heir may command us,” snarled a voice he was certain belonged to Salazar Slytherin. “And you are no Heir.”

“But I am,” Harry groaned, raising his eyes to latch with the cold ones of the deceased wizard. “Open the fucking door. There is no time.”

“There is no need to get hostel, Heir mine,” murmured Godric Gryffindor soothingly. “Hogwarts has told us what has happened.”

“We will grant you access.” Rowena Ravenclaw’s voice as just as regal as he would have imagined.

“But beware the consequence,” warned Helga Hufflepuff. And then, without a word, the door slid open, barely allowing Hermione to pull Harry inside before it slammed shut. And then their eyes landed on it – their only hope – only salvation.

The Mirror of Erised.

“Come on, Harry.” Hermione was tugging at his arm, pulling him forward.

It was not supposed to end like this. Not after all the three had gone through to ensure a happy ending for the tormented Wizarding World. They had found all but the last Horcrux, and had destroyed them, no matter the results that were afflicted on them. All that was left was getting the last Horcrux from Dumbledore’s source, destroying it, and then destroying the self-proclaimed wizard lord.

They were not supposed to be betrayed.

Slowly yet urgently, Hermione helped him to the mirror that had once granted him the sight of the one thing he wanted most. Now, however, it remained blank, reflecting only their horrific appearances.

“Harry,” Hermione whimpered, and his eyes fell to her. His best friend, standing there, staring up at him with honey colored eyes that held no expectations. Her porcelain face was flawed with traces of blood – Ron’s blood – her robes torn and tattered, her rich brown hair matted with blood from a vicious head wound. But she still held the air of defiance, the uncertainty of hope. “It’s the only way.”

The only way.The consequence of actually using the Mirror of Erised was tricky – you didn’t know where it would release you. Into a world better than the one you left, worse than the one you left. One where you were deaf, blind, mute, crippled. One where the entire world spoke backwards, or where either Muggles or magic did not exist. It was never considered a risk worth taking.

But now it was the only way.

Slowly, Harry reached a pale, shaking hand out toward the smooth glass, flinching as his fingers sank right through it, pulling them back out immediately. Suddenly, the sounds of ferocious arguing cut across the silence of the room – the Death Eaters had found them. Hermione’s eyes went wide, and without warning, he found himself pulled into fierce hug.

“Be safe, Harry,” she whispered against his chest, planting a kiss to his cheek before pulling back. “Now go,” she ordered.

“Hermione--.” He stopped, his head exploding in brutal pain, his feet stumbling backwards. Blood began to leak from his scar, pouring thickly down his face. Voldemort. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort. He was an Heir.

“Harry, go!” Hermione suddenly screamed. He could barely register the sound of the door sliding open. “There’s no time!”

No time.

And then, suddenly, he felt something pushing him backwards, and his body was falling, sinking in the glass of the mirror and beyond. The last thing he saw was Lord Voldemort entering the room, an infuriated look upon his face, and Hermione’s apologetic eyes.

.T.

Hermione’s eyes closed briefly as she saw her best friend disappear into the Mirror of Erised, his look of betrayal still fresh in her mind.

‘Forgive me, Harry,’ she pleaded silently, well aware of Lord Voldemort’s approaching form. ‘Please. Ron and I only wanted you safe. Please.’

“Mudblood.” The Dark Lord’s furious hiss drew her back to her nightmarish reality. “Where issss Potter?”

She only glanced toward the mirror, but it was apparently all Voldemort needed to see. She watched, horrified, as he began to approach it, and quickly withdrew her wand.

“Go to hell!” She screamed. “Explodia!”

Voldemort’s advance halted as the Mirror of Erised exploded into several large shards, releasing what sounded like a tortured, mournful wail. He whirled on her, twisted wand raised as though he intended to kill her. She held her breath and looked away, waiting for the flash of green that would signify the oncoming of her death. When it didn’t come, however, she looked up, only to lock eyes with those of their betrayer. Of Ron’s murderer.

“Hello, Granger.”

.T.

His feet slammed to the ground, his legs instantly buckling under the sudden impact. His frail body was immediately inundated by the pounding rain, his wounds screaming in agony at the vicious assault. His knees pulled up to his chest on reflex, a soft whimper escaping his lips as his eyes scanned his surroundings on their own accord. What they saw surprised him.

He lay in the center of the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in perfect view. She held no signs of the Second War being ended in her center – no burn mark. No scratch.

‘What the hell is going on?’ He thought wearily, closing his eyes. ‘I thought this was supposed to be an alternate universe …’

“But Professor, I swear it! He fell right from the sky, no broomstick! He’s not wearing a school uniform or anything!” The shrill of a younger kid cracked across his skull, and another groan passed through Harry’s lips.

“Well, I certainly hope your mystery person it wearing something, Michaels,” replied an amused yet concerned voice. Familiar. Something about it … different. Familiar different. “Though I still don’t think – Good Merlin!”

“I told you!”

Harry whimpered once more as firm but gentle hands slowly turned his body skyward.

“Harry?”

And he opened his eyes at the shocked gasp, only to lock with those of Petunia Dursley.

To Be Continued…


	2. Twisted Consequence

  
Author's notes: Post HBP. HaHrAU. Betrayed in the Final Battle, Harry is placed into an alternate universe where his mother is alive, he's been kept in hiding, Ron and Hermione are in Slytherin, and James Potter ... is the Dark Lord. DarkHarry.  


* * *

Disclaimer: It from profit any make don’t I and, slander of form any be to story this intend not do I. Novels Rowling’s J.K. within found character any other or Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter own not do I.

Notes: Attention should be paid to details ... ^_~

Notes2: Anyone know how to get italics on this site? I try uploading from my floppy, but it doesn't work (?). Anyone? I'd really appreciate it.

.:: blah ::. Flashbacks

To Reviewers: Well, I’m certainly happy that you are intrigued. I only hope that your expectations in this story are well placed.

Warnings: AU, angst, child abuse, slash-coupling, language, violence, etc., etc. I’m not driving this story, I’m just along for the ride. –grin-

Chapter I

She walked with a royal grace, her stride long yet unhurried, head held high, her finely carved, porcelain face cool and expressionless. Copper eyes appeared to focus solely ahead, but anyone giving her an intense study could see them warily dart around occasionally, as though on the lookout for an unwanted encounter. Her long brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders, tucked behind her ears to keep her appearance from being straggly. The long, expensive fur-collard trench coat she adorned kept distasteful gazes and words from falling upon her. After all, as far as the surrounding people at Kings Cross Station were concerned, the children of wealthy citizens were permitted to be dark and broody.

Not that they knew anything of course. Especially not about her.

“Hermione!”

The loud, somewhat elegant call of her name had the teenager realizing she was within steps of Platform 9 ¾, facing a small group of expectant red-haired people, one in particular who was smiling warmly at her. Hermione allowed a small smile of her own to slip across her self-constructed mask as Ronald Weasley, her best friend and adopted brother, enveloped her in a brief, tender embrace. Though she did not show it, she relished in the friendly contact, returning it just a strong before breaking apart.

“Ron,” she greeted happily, turning her attention to the figure behind him customly. “Mr. Weasley,” she nodded politely. The middle-aged wizard beamed down at her, shifting his weight as he struggled with his son’s trunk, his finely tailored black suit whispering at the movement.

“Hermione,” he replied in chipper. “Wonderful to see you again, dear. You’re looking wonderful. Now, you two better hurry. Wouldn’t do to miss the train on your last year, would it?” Both children shared a secretive look, a cross between grins and sardonic glares, before Ron gently pulled his trunk from his father’s grasp, and wrapped his arms around him in, what Hermione assumed to be, a manly hug. She glanced away as they shared quiet words, feeling somewhat guilty for her presence in a private moment.

“Now, be careful, both of you,” Mr. Weasley warned as he and Ron broke apart. “The way things have been going recently … I do not want either of you roaming around by yourselves. Stick in groups – though with friends like yours, I do not suppose you will have to worry…”

“Dad, we’ll be fine,” Ron assured, clapping him on the back. “Won’t we, Hermione?” He reached a hand out toward her, and she took it graciously, smiling brightly at their elder companion, though her mind screamed of other emotion.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Weasley, we’ll be careful,” she promised, feeling Ron’s grip tighten slightly on her hand. Her words seemed to appease her best friend’s father, for after a few more farewell exchanges, he tipped his head and walked off in the other direction, shooting one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the vast crowd of Muggles.

“I have a gut-wrenching feeling that we just lied,” Ron stated oddly the moment he was gone. Hermione shrugged sadly, reaching down for the handle of her trunk and starting toward the barrier that would lead them toward the Hogwarts Express.

“It’s war, Ron,” she murmured in response as he walked along side her, hands still entangled. Nothing else passed between them as they disappeared into the brick pillar, no one noticing the awe-inspiring departure.

.T.

Draco Malfoy had always been a beautiful child. His pale coloring, silver blonde hair, and piercing steel eyes had encouraged the label of “Hogwarts’ Hottest Bachelor” for the past six years, a title he had always found more than mildly disgusting. Even being sorted into Ravenclaw – the House known for studious know-it-alls – had done nothing to deter the unwanted attention and fawning of both females and males alike.

Therefore, as he stood beside his mother on Platform 9 ¾, he could not help but relish in the cool, fearful glances that were being sent his direction … or the lack thereof.

This year – his last year – there would be no drooling girls hanging onto his every word. There would be no more than slightly intimidated boys stalking his steps through the Hogwarts corridors. Filch would not watch him with that predatory gleam in his ugly eyes, and the grades he received from professors would now be fairly earned.

Since his father had publicly denounced the Dark Lord the past summer, the attention that had haunted his every step had instantaneously vanished. Draco was certain he could never be happier to be in mortal peril as he was now.

“Draco.”

The soft voice of his mother had him glancing to the side, neither have to look up or down to meet her eyes. The fret in the deep blue orbs had his face softening, and all cockiness faded from his body as he took in his mother’s concern. Narcissa Malfoy had always been a strong woman. The graceful shyness was a façade – any well-learned person could see that her beauty was a carefully hidden warning symbol of her deadly bite. She had stood by her husband proudly when he had spat upon the Dark Lord’s title, unashamed to be linked with him in his beliefs.

But it appeared that the ramifications her actions would have on her only child had not crossed her mind until now.

“Do not concern yourself, Mother,” he whispered reassuringly, stepping off of the Apparation platform, holding out his hand to help her do the same. “No supporter of the Dark Lord would dare to attack anyone at Hogwarts, even me.” He smiled in an attempt to convince her, but she frowned just the same.

“I want you to stay with someone at all times – around the Headmaster, if you can help it. Severus should be able to be of some help, as well. Go to him if things get difficult, won’t you darling? Oh, why didn’t Lucius and I think …”

“Mother.” He grasped her frail shoulders gently in his hands. For a moment, he simply stared her in the eyes, smile returning as she slowly returned the expression. “I will be just fine,” he swore. “It’s you and Father that I’m concerned about. Promise me neither of you will do anything foolish.” To his delight, his mother laughed, and pulled him into a hug. Draco’s smile faltered the second his chin rested on her shoulder, a horrible feeling settling over his heart.

“Oh, Draco,” his mother whispered fondly, pulling back to hold him at arm’s length. She studied him fondly for a moment, before placing an affectionate kiss upon his forehead. “What ever will I do with you?” She inquired just as the train’s warning whistle blew. He chuckled.

“You could let me get on the Express?” Reluctantly, he pulled away, grasping the handle of his trunk and dragging it to his side. He turned and started toward the crimson Hogwarts Express. Handing his trunk to a waiting Prefect, who deftly pulled it inside, he turned around and waved.

‘I love you.’ He lips formed silently, and his heart warmed as she smiled in return.

‘I love you, too.’ She mouthed back. And then the Prefect hissed at him to get in so that others could board. Sharing one final glance with his mother, Draco did as he was told.

The dark feeling did not fade.

.T.

.:: It was silent – far too silent. His ears rang with the lack of sound, his head pounding in uncaused pain. His eyes could see nothing out of the ordinary, yet his blood practically boiled of imminent danger. He glanced toward his companions, somewhat relieved to see that they were in much the same state.

“He said he would meet us here, didn’t he?” Hermione’s soft voice, uncertain and uneasy, cut through the deafening silence, turning her gaze to both him and Ron as her hand tightened white-knuckled on her wand. The latter nodded curtly, stance just as rigid as her voice.

“He did. But something seems … off. I can’t place it, but I really don’t like it.” His gaze snaked toward Harry. “Headache?” He inquired pointedly.

“Nothing,” responded Harry in obvious agitation. Ron was right. Something was off – way off. He wasn’t here, and by lack of pain, neither was Voldemort. He closed his eyes as Hogwarts shuddered around him, picking up on the imminent peril. 

“This is wrong.” Hermione moved closer to them, frowning heavily. “Why would the Death Eaters just stop? They have us “cornered” in here – it doesn’t make any logical sense.”

“Not that that lot is logical,” Ron pointed out dryly, edging closer as well, wand poised and ready, eyes darting around cautiously. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that they realized we have the advantage and left, right?” Despite the setting, Harry could not help but snort at the stated impossible happening. Beside them both, Hermione twitched in morbid amusement.

All three froze, however, as sardonic laughter erupted through the silence, the baritone achingly familiar to their ears. They whirled to where the Head Table had once stood, only to see their ally standing before them, offering a smile that made their spines twist brutally. Through his startled confusion, Harry felt Hogwarts pulse in apologetic sorrow as their ally moved aside, revealing the gruesome form of Lord Voldemort resting lazily in the Head chair, crimson eyes gleaming in cruel delight. Vaguely, he could hear Ron shouting something vulgar as his head erupted in pain, and Hermione’s hands pushing him aside. 

There was a brilliant flash of gold, and the next second, his body erupted in agony as his stomach was punctured by a sharp, weapon-like light. He screamed … ::.

“I demand to know what has happened!”

“Minister, please, if you could just step outside for a moment …”

“I most certainly will not step outside! I want to know what’s happened to him! If you won’t tell me, then I demand to speak with the Headmaster, assuming, of course, that he can be found!”

Harry groaned as the shrilled voices cut through the quiet that had encased his nightmarish sleep. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, only to have the greeting scenery blurry to his sight. His glasses had been removed.

“The Headmaster has been informed of the situation and is on his way. Now, Minister, if you will please wait outside.”

“Ask me again, and you will be looking for a new job by this afternoon, Popey Pomfrey!”

Pomfrey. Madame Pomfrey. That would mean that he was in the Hospital Wing, then. But why? Hadn’t Ron said the Mirror of Erised would send him to an alternate universe? As far as he could discern, he was merely in the past, once again locked in the Hospital Wing under Madame Pomfrey’s watchful eye, the Minister demanding to see him in such a cocky way that was his trademark.

Only, the Minister’s voice seemed a bit … higher. Perhaps Rufus Scrimgeour had been made a eunuch, and that’s what made this an alternate universe. Not a bad trade, of course …

Harry struggled to push himself up, grimacing as the wound in his abdomen protested the movement, a slight groan escaping his lips. It wasn’t loud, but apparently audible, for Pomfrey and Scrimgeour instantly ceased in their conversation. The building tension surrounded him like a cloak.

“He’s awake! Harry!”

“Minister, really! I don’t think…”

Whatever Madame Pomfrey had been planning to say was not finished, for the Minister was suddenly in front him (a little shorter than Harry remembered), and his glasses were being slid gingerly upon his face.

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re alright. What happened, Harry? Who did this to you?”

And Harry looked up, prepared to jump for any cover story possible.

But the forming lie was stopped on his lips as he found himself staring into the identical emerald eyes of his mother.

.T.

“Summer the same as it always is?”

Ron glanced at Hermione’s diminutive figure huddled against the window of the back compartment of the Hogwarts Express. Though the train had only just departed a few hours ago, she was already lost in the middle of a rather thick Muggle text he knew her father had not given her. He winced slightly as she shot him a hard glare in answer, before returning to the book in her lap.

Ron hated that Hermione had been put through what she had. He hated what she went through every holiday. He hated that she never told anyone, and that she had sworn him never to tell. He hated that, even if he did tell, it would do nothing for anyone. Because even if Hogwarts had been declared a neutral zone, the Dark Lord ruled over the entire Magical Community. Though the people despised him, his myriad of followers outnumbered them two-to-one; his word was effectively beyond contestation.

And it was his word that had Hermione living in a family that was not her own.

“You know,” he continued cautiously, noticing his female companion had yet to turn a page. “One day, all of this is going to change. One day, the Dark Lord’s going to face someone he can’t beat. He’ll die, and everything will go back to normal. You’ll be with your family again, and I’ll be with mine.” Hermione glanced up, annoyed expression now amused.

“And how do you know the one to defeat the Dark Lord won’t go evil themselves?” She inquired lightly, closing her book and slouching back, giving Ron her full attention. He paused a moment to consider this, his face scrunching up in distaste at the notion.

“He won’t,” he stated firmly. “He’ll be good – pure. Because only something like that could overcome the Dark Lord.” He looked toward Hermione, only to see her giving him a pitying glance. “What?”

“It’s time to return to reality, Ron,” she said softly. “You and I know more than anyone that the world is much too cruel to send some … some savior to rescue us. There’s no point in hoping for something like that.”

“And you and I both know that sometimes hope is all you can have,” he replied just as softly. They eyed one another for a moment, breaking the contact to turn toward the compartment door as it slid open.

“Everything alright in here?” Inquired Slytherin Prefect Theodore Nott, examining the cabin before returning his eyes to his housemates. Ron’s Slytherin mask fell securely into place as Hermione returned to her book once more, nodding to roommate. No more words were exchanged as the Prefect was pacified by the nonverbal answer. His brunette head disappeared as the door shut, leaving the duo to their relished privacy. Ron’s cerulean orbs hovered over the small figure across from him.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he whispered desperately after a moment. His face fell as his friend gave no indication that she had heard his apology. “It’s just … the war. The stress. It’s all …”

“Ridiculous?” She finished for him, not looking up. Broad shoulders slumped as Ron’s eyes lowered.

Ridiculous. Odd how a word once scorned by the English dictionary could so easily sum up the greatest, most horrific war ever seen by man. He felt as though it should be somewhat derogatory when used to define the circumstances, but it was ironically fitting. Yes, ridiculous. Ridiculous that a community as powerful as the Magical Community of Britain could bend so easily to the whims of a self-labeled lord. Ridiculous that his family had been torn to shreds because of an idiotic war. Ridiculous that he could only see his baby sister, his Ginny, when Hogwarts’ term began, simply because of the Dark Lord’s decrees.

Hell, to sum it all up, one might as well just title the Dark Lord “Lord Ridiculous” for all the insanities he came up with.

Now, that would certainly prove to be entertaining.

He stiffened slightly as he felt slim arms wrap around his body, relaxing only when he felt Hermione’s nimble hands reaching up to stroke through his hair. Sighing, he allowed his head to fall against her collarbone – allowed her to cradle him. Sorrow and understanding for one another raced through their veins, yet their faces remained impassive, their mouths silent. Years of practice not brought on by House training gave their emotions no release – burying them alive in a padlocked coffin safe deep inside their hearts.

“Besides,” Hermione started quietly, and he glanced up into her bronze eyes. “Who says the savior would be male?” She looked down at him, a tug at her lips.

And he chuckled softly, turning his eyes wistfully toward the window as soft words left his mouth.

“Maybe it will be him.”

Hermione’s arms tightened in understanding.

.T.

The Mirror of Erised. Officially the worst creation ever produced at the hands of wizards, and naturally owned by one Albus Dumbledore. A temptress of desire that held a nasty bite. She would reflect for you your greatest desire, but would trap you where you stood, slowly killing you with what you wanted most. It could offer you a chance to save the world, but throw your life to the hands of your enemy just as quickly. It held the opportunity to save your own life, but toss you into a nightmarish world that would have you wishing you were dead.

‘But beware the consequence.’ The sneer that formed on Harry’s face would have put Severus Snape’s to shame as Helga Hufflepuff’s warning echoed through his mind. Beware the consequence? Bloody hell!

Betrayed by the one he had placed the most faith in. Forced to leave his friends behind so that hope could remain alive. Viciously shoved into a world where his greatest desires were physical and alive, yet twisted beyond his mind’s capacity to accept.

‘Cruel desire,’ he thought morbidly, absently picking at the thin hospital sheet that covered his legs. ‘Yep. Definitely in the Mirror of Erised.’ His brow furrowed deeply, his infamous scar crinkling slightly at the motion. ‘I’m going to blow the bloody thing up the second I get out of here. Bastard of glass.’

Vague whispering entered his ears, and unwillingly, emerald eyes flickered to the corner of the room, where they could easily make out the shadow-cast figures of three of the people he had respected the most: Madame Pomfrey, Albus Dumbledore, and … his mother.

And this was where the Mirror began its maliciousness.

His mother. His entire life he had longed to meet her. The words of her old school friends had shaped her into a beautiful, vivacious redhead who was as witty as she was warm. But this Lily Potter was a far cry from the mother his heart had created. Emerald eyes, identical to his own, were not filled with the love a mother should possess for her child. Her voice, which he had always imagined would be soft and gentle, did not caress him with warmth, but unintentionally scolded him coldly. She had seemed concerned for him, her could admit that, but … she did not radiate the same persona as the woman her friends had claimed her to hold.

Cruel desire. What was the Mirror doing to him? Why … his mother.

Honestly, at first Harry had no clue as to why he hadn’t just told Madame Pomfrey the truth – why he had not told her that he was from an alternate universe. He had played along with her questions, thinking up half-truths and mediocre fibs that kept his secret well guarded. Part of him wanted to blurt out the truth so that he would be forced back through the Mirror – into his own time. The other half, however – the selfish half – wished to become the Harry Potter of this world. To remain free of the expectations of being “The Chosen One”, to be with his parents. Naturally, regrettably, that side had won over.

A soft sigh from Madame Pomfrey jerked his unwilling mind to the conversation the trio of adults was currently holding.

“Amnesia. There’s no doubt about it, he remembers nothing.”

“Are you certain it wasn’t a memory charm?”

“A mem- to accomplish what? Removing memories of the past seventeen years of his life would solve nothing!”

“It is something we cannot afford to rule out. What have you been able to prognose?”

“He’s been tortured, such is obvious. Not for an extensive amount of time, but horrifically nonetheless. I really do not think it would wise to question him …”

“Unfortunately, there does not appear to be a suitable alternative. We need to know how he managed to get hold of him. With your permission of course, Minister?”

“Certainly.”

‘How thoughtful of you.’

The sight of Albus Dumbledore had been a pleasant shock for him. His mother was what his heart desired, true, but it was the presence of the Headmaster that he truly yearned for. Unlike the Albus Dumbledore from his time, this one held no heavy signs of the Second War. He was fully healthy, down to the familiar, comforting twinkle in his blue eyes. Harry wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around his mentor, but the small part of logic in his brain remained coherent enough to force his limbs still and his mouth shut as the elderly man slowly approached his bed.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted gently, taking a seat. His mother and Pomfrey hovered behind, not too close to interfere, but still within range for the seventeen-year-old to remain tense. “I suppose this is all quite confusing to you. We will try to clear this up for you as best we can.”

His mouth remained shut, but just as expected, the Headmaster continued on regardless. “We do not know how long you have been missing. Your mother had left you alone with relatives whilst she was on business, something that was done quite often and that you both were comfortable with.”

“I just returned this morning, Harry,” his mother informed quietly, a quiver in her voice. His eyes flickered toward her, seeing the strained expression on her face. Oh, how he wished she would just hug him. “I went to get you, but when I got there, all that was left of the house was … was smoldering ash.”

“You just showed up on the Quidditch Pitch this morning, heavily injured and bleeding. Do you know what happened, Harry?” Dumbledore cut in. “Any inkling? Who might have taken you?”

“Was it …” His mother seemed unwilling to finish the sentence. “Was it … the Dark Lord?”

Dark Lord?

‘You stupid, inconsiderate ass,’ he mentally bellowed to the Mirror as the realization behind the words struck him hard. ‘The Dark Lord? What the hell have you done?’

“I … I don’t feel so well,” he muttered, trying desperately to sink into the pillows, casting Madame Pomfrey his best pitiful look, a feat not too difficult with the hysteria he was currently in. Fortunately, the school nurse was the same no matter what universe she was in. She clucked distastefully toward the Headmaster as she raced toward the bed, drawing his covers to his chin and summoning potions to her side.

“I told you he wasn’t up for questioning,” she scolded the older wizard sharply. “He needs to rest. He’s been through a very trying ordeal. I must ask you to leave. Both of you.” She added sternly, glaring at his mother. Harry watched warily as both bowed their heads in respect of the order.

“I will see you soon, Harry,” his mother promised, before allowing Dumbledore to guide her from the hospital wing.

Not even a kiss on the cheek.

“Take some of these potions, dear,” Madame Pomfrey commanded gently, placing three vials on the end table beside his bed. “They will help you sleep. I’ll put up the privacy curtain and sound-dimming spells so that the arriving students won’t bother you.” Harry blinked at her owlishly as she skillfully removed his glasses.

“Arriving students?” He inquired softly. “But … there was a student this morning …”

“Yes, yes. Gavin Michaels. Second year. He stays here every summer. Now, take this.”

Downing the horrid mixture his tongue recognized as a Dreamless Sleep draught, Harry protested. “But students are not allowed to stay over summer break …” His words drew off as Madame Pomfrey’s blurry head shook sadly.

“The things amnesiacs can recall,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “The world is a little different than it should be, Mr. Evans. Things … are not easy for several people, especially certain children.”

With that, she disappeared from his fuzzy line of sight, conjuring a privacy curtain that cast him into darkness. For a moment, he simply stared out, waiting for something familiar to greet his gaze.

Nothing came.

He cursed Voldemort with every fiber of his being, more hate radiating through him then there had been when Sirius had fallen through the veil, or when Snape had shot Dumbledore down with the Killing Curse. This was all so confusing. So … messed up. Everything he had known was destroyed, and everything he had wished for hanging tauntingly in front of his face, twisted and deformed beyond recognition.

He buried his face in the soft pillow that cradled his head, the onslaught of unwelcome tears burning his eyes. He wished desperately from Ron and Hermione’s company. He wished they had never been betrayed, that Ron hadn’t died. He wished that things could go back to the way they were, only sans Voldemort. He wished things could be that easy.

As the Dreamless Sleep slowly pulled him into the depths of hellish nightmares, his thoughts mercifully began to cease. Only one was left, and it struggled so valiantly to reach him that he couldn’t ignore it. As darkness embraced him, his mind bolted.

She had called him ‘Evans’.

.T.

“He’s been discovered. You cannot hide him anymore, Lily.”

“I know, I know. Albus, what do we do? Something’s … different about him. What if he’s been turned? What if that is why he was sent here?”

“I doubt very much that the Dark Lord would risk such a prize so soon after obtaining it. No, I do not think he has been turned. But that is not the case to worry about now. You cannot hide him again, now that he has been tracked. The Dark Lord would find him in a second’s time. No, another alternative … he must be enrolled here.”

“En—Albus! But that about what happened last time? When he was Sorted, we knew it would be too risky for him to remain here--.”

“Lily, there is no other choice. Hogwarts is the best place to keep something from those who would use it against us. Now, go home to your husband, and return to your duties. Tomorrow morning, your son will be enrolled in Hogwarts. Again.”

To be continued …


End file.
